How Shawn Spencer Ruined the Fourth of July
by windscryer
Summary: Shawn was pestilence, plague, famine, and Armageddon all wrapped into an annoying ball of smug, psychic playboy. Lassiter really wished he had the freedom to shoot him.


Tuesday was apparently Request from Maja Day in the Psych Chat.

This one is for MusicalLuna.

Her prompts were banana, mango, beach ball, and rockets.

(Yeah, I don't know either. I just write the story, I don't ask about the prompts.)

Disclaimer: Freedom of speech doesn't apply here does it? Dang. Fine. They're not mine. pouts

* * *

Shawn stared up at the sun, wondering just how hot the temperature had climbed so far today.

"HEADS UP!"

The call brought his head around, but not fast enough for him to dodge the colorful missile before it hit him.

With a hollow, airy _THOIMP!_ it bounced off of his head as he fell backwards.

He lay dazed in the grass, wondering what had just happened.

And then the face of an angel appeared, shading him from the sun.

"Shawn?"

He blinked.

She really was an angel.

Like, _really_.

She had a halo and everything.

Oh wait, that was the sun.

"Shawn, if you can hear me I need you to respond."

"Juliet?"

Relief washed over her face.

"Are you okay?" she asked.

He twisted his head, looking around. "What was that?" He didn't fail to notice she was dressed in a swimsuit and shorts, but for the moment he was more interested in what had tried to take him out—and almost succeeded.

She looked a bit sheepish and his curiosity was piqued even more.

"Jules?"

"It was, ah . . . a beach ball."

"A . . . _beach_ ball?" he repeated.

"We're playing Beach Volleyball Suicide and it went out of bounds."

"Holy crap," he breathed, reaching up to touch his head. It smarted where the plastic inflatable toy had smacked him. "Who hit me?"

"Spencer?" a new voice said. "Is he dead?" he asked, perhaps a bit hopefully, though whether it was because maybe it could get him out of here—and hopefully into something other than those board shorts—or just because it was _Shawn_ was unclear.

Juliet rolled her eyes.

"No he's not dead. It was a _beach ball_, Carlton."

Disappointment flickered over the detective's face.

"Oh. So he's okay then?"

"Lassie!" Shawn said. "I had a vision. It was round. Orange, red, and green . . ."

"It was a beach ball, Spencer, not a vision," Lassiter said as he extended a hand to help the other man up. A crowd was gathering and proof Spencer wasn't dead would go a long way towards dispelling it.

"Actually, it was a mango, Lassie. Jules, why did I have a vision of a mango?" he asked, turning to face her.

"Because they're making mango smoothies over in the food tent?"

"Ooh. Where there are mangoes there are often pineapples. Come with me?" he asked her, turning on the puppy dog charm. "I don't think I should be alone, right now, being concussed and all."

She sighed, but her lips twitched in a smile. Carlton's eyes rolled and he exhaled something that was almost definitely not complimentary.

"Sure, Shawn. Let's go get you something cold to drink, maybe some ice for your head, and a seat. Okay?"

"You're the best, Jules!" Shawn said, beaming. He hooked his arm through hers, then stretched a bit and hooked the other through Lassiter's arm.

"What the-" Lassiter protested and looked down at his arm interlinked with Shawn's.

"Come on, Lassie. We're getting pineapple smoothies!"

"Spencer, no! I don't-" His protests were ignored as he was dragged along. Juliet didn't speak up since it was his fault that Shawn had been knocked down. Besides, Shawn was less likely to try anything with Carlton there.

They headed into the food tent, passing under the banner that identified it as the Police Department's contribution to the Santa Barbara Fourth of July picnic.

"Spencer, let GO!"

"What kind do you want, Jules? Lassie's treat."

Carlton gave an indignant squawk at that and Juliet just smiled.

"I can get my own, Shawn."

"No. You're Lassie's partner. And he tried to kill me. That means he has to pay. So, mango or pineapple? Oooh. Or Strawberry-banana!"

Juliet just shook her head. Shawn was acting like a six-year-old the way his head kept moving to take in all the sights. Then again, when did he _not_ act like a six-year-old?

Her wandering thoughts got her into trouble when she was bumped from behind and stumbled into Shawn who stumbled into Lassiter.

Who snapped, "Watch it!" and glared at Shawn.

"Wasn't me," Shawn said, frowning. "Be right back. Get me a pineapple smoothie," he said, then ducked into the crowd and vanished.

"Oh good. He's gone. Let's go," Carlton said, turning and heading out.

He was stopped by Juliet's hand on his arm.

"O'Hara-" he started, but stopped at the look on her face as she stared after the way Shawn had gone.

"He stole my wallet."

Carlton blinked. "Who? Spencer?" he asked. YES! he crowed inside. Finally! A reason to arrest the little- He reached for his handcuffs, realized he'd left them in his car since they didn't fit in his shorts pocket and cursed. He should have just hung them from a belt loop.

Juliet huffed out a sigh of frustration, shaking her head, and then went after Shawn.

"O'Hara!" Carlton called. "Come on! I don't-" He sighed. "Why do I never get to call the shots? How is it that I'm the _senior_ partner and I never get to call the shots?" he muttered.

He plunged into the crowd, heading the general direction he'd last seen the other two go.

When he made it to the exit of the tent the crowd thinned considerably and he spotted Juliet. He didn't see Shawn, but she was moving determinedly, so he assumed that she could see the psychic.

He followed, the reluctant caboose to the strung out train, ducking and dodging through the crowd.

It wasn't until he stepped out of a thick knot of people that he realized that he was on the fringes of the area packed with tents from various city departments and merchants.

He saw a flash of Juliet's blue shorts and headed that way.

It was quieter out here on the fringes, the tents muffling the sounds of the crowds.

"You took something that doesn't belong to you," Carlton heard Spencer say.

The response was vulgar and not entirely anatomically possible, strictly speaking. Carlton sped up and rounded the trailer that was between him and the voices, wishing he had a weapon.

Oh well. He'd have to improvise.

He cleared the trailer's bumper just in time to see a fist to the face take Spencer down.

"Hey!" Juliet said, truly pissed off now. She glanced at Shawn, then went after the man who was walking away. He spun back as she reached for his shoulder and kept going until he slammed Juliet against the trailer. She grunted in pain, glaring at the pickpocket-turned-assault-and-batterer.

Shawn staggered to his feet, but the fact that he swayed and slammed into the trailer without even being touched didn't help his intimidation factor. Then he went back to his knees as he coughed out an order to stop.

Carlton rolled his eyes. Oh for the love of-

"Let her go," he ordered as he made his presence known.

The man grinned and looked the detective up and down.

"Or what? You gonna do something to me, surfer boy? This your girlfriend or something?"

Carlton smiled. "I'm not a 'surfer boy'. I'm a detective with the Santa Barbara Police Department. And that's my partner, not my girlfriend."

Panic replaced the cockiness and the eyes went from Carlton to the smugly smiling Juliet.

"You're cops?" He cursed and jumped back like she was on fire.

"We are," Juliet confirmed. "Now give me back my wallet!"

Another quick glance at both of them, one for Shawn who was still on his hands and knees hacking up his lunch—how hard did he hit his head anyway?—then the guy proved he was as dumb as he looked.

He ran.

One more eye roll was added to the tally and Carlton took off in pursuit.

Juliet knelt quickly knelt by Shawn, but he waved her off.

"Go. Help, Lassie. I'm fine."

She hesitated, then pushed him to a sitting position. "Stay here. I'll be right back."

She took off and Shawn was left by himself.

o.o

Dodging carts and kiosks, a steady stream of apologies and announcement of who he was issuing from his mouth between breaths, Carlton maneuvered the obstacle course that was the city's Independence Day _Fair on the Beach_.

He was gaining on his quarry though.

Then they broke into a relatively open area and a flying tackle took down the would-be-thief.

"You have the right to remain silent," Carlton said, catching the eye of one of the uniformed beat cops providing security here at the fair who had been drawn by the commotion to investigate.

"Your cuffs, Officer?" he said when he finished Mirandizing the suspect.

"Yes, sir," a familiar voice said.

Carlton looked up . . . and up . . . and up . . .

"McNabb?"

A sunny grin was the response. "Detective Lassiter!"

Juliet caught up then, coming to a halt nearby, panting as she bent over to brace her hands on her knees.

Carlton accepted the cuffs with a shake of his head, then fastened them around the wrists of the man he'd pinned.

"Take him in, Officer," he ordered, hauling the man to his feet. "Charge him with petty larceny."

Buzz nodded and led the man away.

"Sorry, O'Hara. You'll have to wait for your wallet to come out of evidence."

She sighed. "Yeah. Well, at least I'll get it back. If Shawn hadn't-" Her eyes widened. "Shawn!"

Carlton blinked at her rapid retracing of her steps, then recalled Shawn's incident with the lunch instant replay.

He cursed—_again_—then took off after her. This was _so_ not how he had planned on spending his Fourth of July.

Leave it to Spencer to completely ruin everything.

o.o

They found Shawn exactly where they left him—surprise, surprise—and then helped him get to the first aid tent.

Chief Vick found them there, having been informed through the grapevine of on duty cops of what had transpired.

"I'm glad you're okay, Mr. Spencer," she said. "Thank you for your assistance."

Shawn smiled from where he was laid out on the cot. They were going to let him out soon, or so he'd been told. They just wanted to make sure he wasn't going to pass out or puke on them again.

But he'd been promised he could watch the fireworks, so he was all right with staying here for the time being.

An air horn went off over the PA system that had been rigged up, indicating that people should start making their way to their blankets and chairs for the fireworks. They would start in half an hour.

Shawn gingerly sat up, grateful for Juliet's assistance.

"Join us, Chief?" Shawn asked.

"Thank you, but no, Mr. Spencer. My husband is with our blanket."

"Okay. Happy Fourth of July, Chief!"

"Happy Fourth of July, Mr. Spencer," she said, shaking her head. She nodded to the detectives and then left.

"You coming, Lassie?"

He blinked. "What?"

"Are you coming with us to watch the fireworks?" Shawn asked.

Carlton debated. He didn't exactly have anywhere else to sit. And by now there would be no good spots open, not even for a single person.

"I'm just coming to make sure you don't get in more trouble."

Shawn smiled. "Sure, Lassie," he said knowingly.

Carlton bristled, but when the attention shifted and it was left at that he forced his hackles down and offered a hand to help Spencer up.

Before he could be hooked again he strode out ahead.

"Let's go. Time's a'wasting."

o.o

Henry and Gus were saving the blanket. They'd been called from the first aid tent by Juliet to explain why Shawn had left for a hot dog and never come back.

Room was made, a drink was offered—which Carlton accepted gratefully—and then they settled in to watch the show.

It was spectacular as always, the fireworks reflecting off the harbor and drawing many an appreciative 'ooh' and 'ahh'.

"_And the rockets red glaaaaare!_

_The bombs burting in aiiiiiiir!_

_Gave proof through the niiiiiight!_

_That the flag was still thereeeeee!"_

Okay so 'The Star Spangled Banner' by Metallica wasn't exactly what Carlton thought of when he'd planned this excursion tonight. Usually he was working so he rarely—if ever—got to come to something like this.

But it actually worked really well with the fireworks.

Then he made the mistake of glancing over at Shawn to see why he was being so quiet all of a sudden and was treated to the retinal scarring image of the psychic making out—with much enthusiasm—with Carlton's partner.

He nearly lost his lunch . . . and his dinner . . . and breakfast . . . pretty much ever meal he'd ever eaten in fact . . . right then and there.

He looked away and found Henry smirking at him.

"You didn't know?" Henry leaned in to ask.

"Know what?" Carlton demanded, still suppressing his gag reflex—which consisted of grinning like an idiot. An idiot with clenched teeth.

"They've been dating nearly a month."

Carlton's smile dropped in horror.

"I . . . they . . ."

Henry chuckled and leaned back, refocusing on the fireworks.

Carlton shuddered and risked another glance at the couple.

They had—fortunately—finished trying to steal each others' gum.

That was where the good news ended.

Juliet had moved so she was sitting in Shawn's lap, leaning back against him, her head resting on his shoulder as they watched the show in the sky.

Shawn said something that made her laugh and then caught Carlton's eye. And winked.

He actually _winked_.

Carlton made a mental note to find a way to get a bomb on a motorcycle that would leave little forensic evidence.

Then he forced the unpleasant subject from his mind and followed Guster's example in watching the fireworks and completely ignoring everyone else around him.

* * *

LOLZ. YAYZ WRITING LATE AT NIGHT WITH ODD PROMPTS.

If it sucks blame Luna. She was the grabby hands that kept me up writing. The skank ho.

Review please and thank you.


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